I'm A Weak Revolutionary

A couple things about me: I hate Wal-Mart and I love French bread. I find Wal-Mart to be an industry designed to destroy smaller, independently operated businesses and treats it's internal infrastructure like slave labor. And on the flip side of things, I find French bread to be absolutely delicious, with the perfect balance of crunchy crust and warm, tender innards. And usually, both just existed as two random facts involving myself.

But, like things tend to do, my worlds collided.

Me and Mrs. Boogie made a stop by Wal-Mart last night. Not with any kind of love or loyalty, mind you, in fact we were both pretty disgusted with ourselves. But, when two people are tired and would otherwise have to take twice as long in order to go to two different stores for a handful of items, standards tend to get lowered in the name of convenience.

So, I'm wandering through Wal-Mart, feeling a little guilty, when I stumble across the French Bread rack. As is my habit, I give it a thorough molesting. And wouldn't you know it, the bread was warm! It had that soft quality to it, with just the right amount of crunch to the crust, it was outstanding. I'm sure you people know how hard it is to get a decent loaf of the French goodness, but this was at nine o'clock at night! It's impossible to even get an edible slab of bread at that time of night, much less one that's all warm and toasty. So, I grabbed a loaf and went about my business.

Whilst driving home, me and the missus started ripping of slabs of our newly acquired baked booty. And, while it hurts me to say it, I must confess, it was the best damn loaf of French bread I've ever had in my life.

The crust had just enough thickness to make it pliable, but it was smooth enough not to flake all over the place. And the center, oh the center was fantastic! You could actually taste the grains in the crumb. I've never been able to do that before, and it was marvelous.

What happened here? I usually hit the local places for my bakery needs, because local business always put in the necessary time and effort for good breads, and usually have some traditional recipe that has stood the test of time. Yet, here I am, fawning over bread from a big box chain and singing it's praises. Did they lace the bread with crack? Am I eating equal parts yeast, flour, and ecstasy?

Probably not. What has most likely happened is that I stumbled on some decent baked goods, and sold my soul to the man. I caved people. Traded in my ideals for cooked yeast. I went in fighting against the corporate beast, and ended up becoming Ephialtes.

I'm so ashamed.